


Water When I'm Burning

by Elfgrandfather



Series: cursed twink hannibal content [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Lecter is a brat, Kitchen Sex, Language of Flowers, M/M, Murder Husbands, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overstimulation, Rimming, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, Smitten Will Graham, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, older will graham, younger hannibal lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/pseuds/Elfgrandfather
Summary: After successfully framing a small-time copycat for all ofIl Mostro's murders, Will Graham settles into a semi-long distance relationship with Hannibal, who's just started at Johns Hopkins. The ties that bind them expand, changes shape, and endure the challenges typically associated with an age gap, coming out later in life, and being in love with a sadistic serial killer.(AU where Hannibal is almost twenty years Will's junior, with the dynamics that entails.)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: cursed twink hannibal content [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918093
Comments: 13
Kudos: 106





	1. Mallow

**Author's Note:**

> I never do sequels but I still had a couple of ideas for this AU and people seemed interested, so why not! This is a continuation of [Stretch Into Eternity, Divine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422286/chapters/61653733), but you don't really need to have read it if you're willing to take the universe of this fic in stride.
> 
> I usually like to finish a story before starting to post it, but I'm just going with the flow on this one so updates won't be on any kind of schedule. Still, I know where I'm going with it, and it won't be super long, so there shouldn't be any huge gaps in uploads (i hope...........).
> 
> Title frommm [I Didn't Mean to Hurt You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwL3siS5OUI) by Spiritualized.

Briskly solving the case of the Monster of Florence had been something of a tactical mistake, because Jack Crawford got it into his head it meant Will was officially back in business.

Of course, he could theoretically refuse to consult on cases, in the same way one can theoretically refuse to pay one’s taxes. There would be a sense of pride and independence, at first, swiftly demolished by constant and unending torment and an inevitable capitulation.

Referring to Jack’s friendly, persistent persuasion in this manner might be a touch dramatic, but to a homebody like Will, it’s how it felt.

At any rate, there he was, standing in a manicured garden of Virginia’s richest suburb on a gloomy Friday afternoon, staring at the head poking out of a beaten flowerbed. White and fuchsia mallow flowers burst out of the corpse’s eye sockets, mouth, even a nostril. The plants were alive, painstakingly transplanted into the hollowed-out head. There was a touch of daintiness to it. Delicacy. The vivid pink that radiated out from pistil through ivory petal looked like veins from some angles, supplicating silhouettes from others.

Will blinked hard, crawling out of the tortured dimension of empathetic profiling and back into his human suit. He gestured for the forensics crew to continue unearthing the dead man’s body. Jack left the spectator seats of the victim’s back porch, sidled up on neatly trimmed grass.

‘What’re you feeling?’

Will cleared his throat, shaking the last dregs of the killer from his insides. ‘I, uh, I’m okay. It wasn’t too hard.’

Jack smiled, gracious, patient. ‘That’s always good. But I was referring more to our friend.’

He cast a sidelong glance at the body, forensic team hovering and clustering around like ants to a dead bird. Jimmy Price, who’d spent most of his time on the scene admiring the colourful array of zinnias and clouds of goldenrod (‘Very good for the local bee population,’ he explained, ‘we’ve got a nature-lover on our hands.’), gave the men a thumbs up with his free hand, the other elbow-deep inside the cadaver’s chest cavity. Will nodded back.

‘Ah. Right.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Well, it fits the pattern we saw in Falls Church. Same attention to detail, targeting wealthy homes, not stealing anything… and the plant connection is important. Either he works in the field, or he’s sending a message to someone who does.’

‘Say it with flowers.’

‘Yeah. Look into what the plants mean. Their symbolism. It’s no coincidence. I’m, er, pretty sure there’s going to be an extra surprise somewhere in the corpse, like the other times. Bulb in the lungs, if I had to guess.’

Jack nodded. ‘Alright. We’ll let you know. Thanks for coming out, Will, I appreciate it.’

Will nodded, tight-lipped, avoiding Jack’s gaze. ‘It’s been a rough week, with both bodies, do you think I –‘

‘Head home. Not much more you can do around here.’

‘I’ll check in on Monday, once the body’s cleaned up.’

‘Call me. I’ll meet you in the lab.’ Jack clapped a heavy hand on Will’s back, in a gesture that was meant to be amicable. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one. We’ll have The Gardner in custody before he strikes again.’

‘I’d’ve quit as soon as the media gave me that lame moniker,’ Jimmy piped up. His people were on the finicky stages now, more labour than brain-intensive, so he’d taken the liberty of peeling off his grimy latex gloves and wandering over to the extensive herb patch. ‘Pack it up and start again with a new gimmick.’

‘There’s a strategy!’ Jack laughed. ‘Leak the worst names we can think of to the press and watch the murder rate drop.’

Will shoved his hands in his pockets, a little uncomfortable. ‘Enjoy your weekend,’ he said.

Jimmy raised a distracted hand in farewell, and Jack made a point of seeking out Will’s eyes, shooting him a determined look.

‘Rest up, Will. And don’t forget: we’re figuring this out next week for sure.’

With a final, uneasy smile, Will turned around and climbed up the porch steps, heading to his car. He probably _would_ figure it out next week. He had enough clues floating around in his brain.

Enough to realise that this murder wasn’t the work of The Gardner at all.

It was in the details, the differences, slight enough to pass unnoticed by the others, glaring enough to be picked up by him. More sophisticated than the average copycat, but not infallible.

Not yet, anyway.

\---

If he’d somehow missed the rental car parked out front, two things would have tipped him off to a presence in the house: the dogs crowding the closed kitchen door, ignoring the return of their master, and the exquisite smell permeating the entire ground floor.

Winston was the only one to amble over, happily wagging his tail. Will scratched the back of his ears while he hung up his jacket, loosened his laces, kicked off his shoes.

This is what Friday looked like, now. A home-cooked meal and pack of mutts whose loyalties were starting to shift rather more than strictly acceptable.

‘How’d those thirty pieces of silver taste, huh?’ he murmured fondly, picking his way through a field of canines hoping for a scraps. ‘Chicken? Lamb?’

His hand closed around the doorknob. His heart thumped. Things always felt unreal, at this point. Like he’d step through to find an empty room, an absent scent. Perhaps even vanished dogs.

He turned his wrist. Opened the door.

And saw Hannibal.

In a pale pink shirt and a cream slacks and waistcoat combo, shielded by a navy apron, he was a vision of masculine domesticity, searing two thick steaks on a cast iron skillet. Only the light directly above the stove was on, the bulk of the kitchen illuminated only by what little of the setting sun penetrated the thicket around the back of Will’s home. Hannibal’s clothes made him seem older, but the bright lamp overhead exposed the smoothness of his features, the feminine curve of his full lips, his fanning lashes.

A Lithuanian Ganymede.

His dark eyes met Will’s, and that lovely mouth ticked up into a warm smile.

‘Good evening, Will.’ His voice was like butter, and, mingling with the scent of frying meat, it had the odd effect of evoking both hunger pangs and kicks of lust. ‘You’re earlier than I expected. I should have liked to have dinner prepared before your return.’

‘Jack took pity on me.’

Feeling a couple of inquisitive muzzles trying to muscle through, Will gently pushed them back with one leg and quickly shut the door behind him. Now, it was just the two of them, alone.

‘How was work?’

Will knew he didn’t need to ask, but appreciated the pretence. ‘I was called out to deal with a suspected Gardner crime scene.’

The steaks were quickly flipped in turn, exposing their dark, caramelized crusts. ‘And did you?’

‘Well, I dealt with _a_ crime scene.’

Hannibal grinned, not looking away from his cooking. Will glanced at the sizzling meat. It smelled a little like pork, a little like beef.

But he knew it wasn’t either.

Half a year had passed since Hannibal migrated to the United States to study medicine at Johns Hopkins. The move was exciting and frightening at the same time. Proximity implied time spent together, but it also meant dealing with several hundred pounds of blood-soaked baggage.

To be fair, he’d shown significant decorum in not committing murder for the first few months of his arrival. Dealing with the logistics of his studies, new university acquaintances, and transport to and from Will’s place took up the bulk of his time, and for a while, Will could forget.

When they dined together in some absurd, expensive, undeniably delicious new restaurant somewhere in the DMV; when he woke up to breakfasts with caviar or grated truffles, Will could forget the knowing looks his younger lover gave him over carnivorous dishes, the growing hunger he felt for that strange, gamey flavour. Not quite pork. Not quite beef.

When they trekked through forests in search of perfect fishing spots, Hannibal flipping through textbooks or sketching Will hip-deep in a cool stream; when they stole kisses in dark theatres and hallowed museum halls, Will could forget bodies desecrated in every possible way, weeping families, and hopeless loved ones.

When he came into the bedroom to settle in for the night and saw Hannibal stretched out over the covers, tip-tapping emails on his phone, naked and lithe and pale, perfect pliability; when his heart was so full it could burst, Will could forget the terror in Rinaldo Pazzi’s eyes, the ringing of the gunshot that destroyed the Inspector’s brain, the knowledge that he’d chosen Hannibal over justice, duped a fearful city with a sacrificial culprit while the real _Mostro_ packed his bags for Baltimore.

He could forget.

For a while.

The first murder on American soil came when Jack summoned Will for a consultation. All signs pointed to a budding serial killer who targeted young professional women with dark hair in South-East Pennsylvania. Typical jilted sociopath fare, in the tradition of Ted Bundy, were it not for the evidence suggesting a female perpetrator. Female serial killers were rare, and female serial killers who targeted women, even more. Will took the case.

And Hannibal followed.

Fitting his kills into Will’s investigations helped cover them up. Hannibal knew enough to slip in details that only the killer – or the forensics team – would know, and any slip-ups were caught and disarmed by Will before they could raise alarm. It had only happened twice so-far, on two different cases, but it was setting up to be an arrangement between them. A pressure release valve. And, Will suspected, another of Hannibal’s efforts to desensitise Will to the art of murder. The pleasure.

They’d never explicitly addressed _that_ , mind. Talking shop in private seemed somehow vulgar.

‘Did you notice anything peculiar?’ Hannibal asked, nonchalant. The steaks were moved to a cutting board to rest while he threw together a salad as a side. Will noticed the fresh herbs he tossed into the mix, bound in moistened cheesecloth.

Cut from the patch Jimmy Price had admired just a few hours before.

Will stepped closer to Hannibal, gently kneaded his shoulder. When he first purchased this house, when he was younger and in possession of far fewer dogs and traumas, he’d daydreamed about having a family, spending cosy nights in the kitchen with a wife, teaching his children how to cook.

He’d never imagined this.

But now, he couldn’t imagine not having it.

‘I noticed the prominence of the flowers.’ Will saw Hannibal sigh, pleased, and continued. ‘I’m no expert on plant symbolism, so I had to look it up.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘Mallow. Consumed by love.’

Will used his grip on Hannibal’s arm to turn his body toward him, pressing a deep kiss to his mouth in the same movement. Coated in olive oil, Hannibal’s hands hesitated at first, then grabbed fistfuls of Will’s red plaid shirt to force their bodies flush together, filling the small kitchen with the sounds of fabric on fabric, of wet tongues and lips moving against each other with dwindling control.

It was Will who broke off first, resting his forehead against Hannibal’s with shaky groan. On days when he had to force his empathy into overdrive, it was easy to become overwhelmed. Everything felt heightened. He was rapidly approaching middle age and he’d never been on the greatest terms with his libido, but Hannibal was different. Hannibal was only a lick over twenty. Hannibal knew what he wanted. And, along with filling an aching need for companionship, he seemed to have unlocked the eroticism Will had boarded up in a dusty corner of his psyche for the better part of two decades.

It was like being sixteen again. Only better.

‘Pliny the Elder wrote that mallow seed produces lust to an infinite degree,’ Hannibal murmured.

‘Didn’t know you were made of mallow seed.’

Hannibal laughed, the kind of short chuckle elicited by surprise. Though he was easy with his smiles, laughter was a crack in the armour, and it felt precious. It made him want to kiss him again. And again.

Then, one of Hannibal’s oil-slicked hands grasped the cock hardening inside Will’s jeans.

Things happened fast after that.

Teeth on lips. The clatter of utensils thrown to the floor. Hannibal doubling over the counter. His hips rearing up, impatient, while Will pulled down those light slacks and flipped shirttails up. Scrambling for something to use, knowing the dogs at the door would make ducking into the bedroom impossible – grabbing the tall bottle of olive oil. Extra virgin.

‘Would Pliny approve?’

Hannibal just groaned in response, which was all the encouragement Will needed to spread the substance all over his length in a couple of slow, delicious pumps that made the hair on his arms stand on end. Digging his fingers into Hannibal’s taut ass, pressing the head of his throbbing prick against his hole – then inside. Hot, tight.

Immaculate.

This wasn’t one to drag out. Thrusting hard from the get-go, Will gripped Hannibal’s cock and pulled him off in time with his own movements. Though he’d started off awkward, especially compared with Hannibal’s confidence, it didn’t take long to learn the ins and outs of sex with men – or at least, with _this_ man.

Laying his chest against Hannibal’s back, Will felt all the stress of daily life melt into the sounds of Hannibal’s quiet moans and laboured breathing, the growing slipperiness as precome mixed with the oil on his fingers, the scent of expensive cologne and cooked human flesh and homegrown aromatics.

When Hannibal’s hand covered Will’s for the final few tugs of his stiff cock, Will hilted himself, let out a broken moan, and shivered as the orgasm washed over him.

Weakly, he pulled out, coaxed Hannibal to turn around. His usually perfect composure was in tatters, powerful blush blotching his cheeks, his ears, his neck. His eyes were closed, coming down from the rush, but Will knew they’d be sparkling with wicked satisfaction, and he knew the love that filled every inch of his being was more than just endorphins and infatuation.

‘You okay?’

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open, dark and lustful. The usual polite smile crept back into place. He kissed Will’s cheek, and pulled his trousers up from where they lay pooled around his ankles.

‘Could you set the table while I shower?’

Will nodded. Hannibal was something of a germophobe, which was the only real sticking point for the dogs: they’d always slept on and around Will’s bed, and couldn’t understand why, a few days per week, they were banished to the living room – though under Winston’s leadership, they were starting to understand that the younger human’s presence meant different sleeping arrangements, and no amount of whining would change that.

As Hannibal left the kitchen for the bathroom, shushing interested hounds as he went, Will went to grab cutlery. The steaks were still warm, and he felt the water rise to his mouth at the prospect of that perfectly cooked meat.

The image of the cadaver, emptied of eyes and tongue and missing slabs of flesh, didn’t detract from his hunger. Nowadays, staring at a desecrated corpse brought the flavour of human meat to his tongue, the smell of Hannibal’s skin and the sensation of their lips clashing, famished.

Will could usually keep the two worlds separate.

But the veil was thinning.

Time was ticking.

The pipes overhead clanged. The shower being turned on.

Will shut the drawer and laid the knives and forks out on the small kitchen table.

Eventually, things would come to a head.

But not today. 


	2. Wolfsbane

Though Will certainly had his fair share of what could charitably be called ‘issues,’ unease around cadavers and all they contained was not one of them. In fact, he often found the dead better company than the living. Corpses didn’t lie. They didn’t send mixed signals or give backhanded compliments or expect you to meet their eyes – if they had any.

In short, he wasn’t squeamish around blood. He wouldn’t have lasted in law enforcement if he was.

However, when that blood spanned his front door to the staircase like a giant brushstroke, his dogs lapping at the carmine trail with wagging tails and innocent curiosity, it hit different.

This was when that FBI training truly came in useful. There were no concerns, no fear. Just adrenaline and the solid weight of his service weapon.

He made quick work of checking the ground floor, nudging open each door and marking it off as safe. The dogs understood something was awry, kept silent as they watched their master creep around. Their lack of concern pointed to the threat being either gone or minimal, but there was no such thing as being overzealous in this world.

Sweep complete, he stood before the stairs. Each step was topped with puddles of blood of varying sizes, some marred by footprints and nature debris. The upper level served as storage space, chiefly occupied by motor parts, scraps of Louisiana he’d been too sentimental to discard, tax returns and contracts, and…

Taking care to avoid the stains, he crept up the stairs, Glock cocked and muscles tense. The trail lead to the only closed door.

The bathroom.

Will breathed in. Jabbed his foot hard against the door, followed through with his gun raised.

On one hand, the sight that greeted him was a surprise. On the other, he’d more or less been expecting it for months.

Hannibal sat propped up against a tiled wall. His Armani shirt was little more than a rag at this point, torn and tinted vivid red. Naked from the waist up, he had the leather strap of his belt clenched between his teeth, to silence any involuntary sounds while he sewed up the incision just under the left side of his ribs. Though the wound was fairly deep, it was small, and only contributed a fraction of the carnage around the house.

The source of the remaining blood was no mystery. A young man lay in the bathtub with several jagged cuts around the abdomen. His eyes were glazed over and half open, his lips blue. Dead.

Will lowered the gun, feeling the nervous energy flow out through the soles of his feet. He wanted to ask what was happening, why here, why _this_ – but until Hannibal was done mending himself, there wasn’t much they could do. So, with heavy footsteps, he ambled to the tub and dropped down on the rim, deliberately keeping the corpse out of his line of sight.

For a while, that’s how they remained. Hannibal, stifling pained grunts as the needle and thread passed through his skin over and over in a neat ladder stitch, and Will, watching him, numb. With detached interest, he saw that the thread was actually from one of his spools of nylon fishing line. The occasional skitter of claws downstairs. Water drops hitting the sink.

Finally, Hannibal tied the line into a sturdy knot, used the scissors from the first-aid kit to snip it short, and released the belt from his mouth with a shaky sigh. Neat rows of indentations pockmarked the brown leather, shiny with spit. In any other circumstances, the sight would be erotic, the promise of what those teeth could do on Will’s decidedly living flesh.

But these weren’t any other circumstances.

These were circumstances in which a stranger’s body was stiffening in Will’s bathtub.

‘Let me disinfect it,’ Will said. In the silence, his voice was like a foghorn, though he spoke barely above a murmur. ‘I’m no med student, but I can do that much.’

Wordlessly, Hannibal handed him the rubbing alcohol, inhaled sharply when wet gauze teased the edges of his fresh sutures. Washing blood and grime off trembling flesh, Will waited. And waited.

Until.

‘Mark was rude,’ Hannibal whispered. ‘He didn’t integrate Johns Hopkins on his own merits, academic or otherwise. Pure nepotism. He was a constant distraction, a source of foul remarks and unwanted approaches. There was consensus, even among my kindest colleagues, that he would not be missed. I was reading Genet.’

Will remembered the French book riding around in Hannibal’s coat pocket. _Our Lady of the Flowers_. He’d thumbed through it a few times, parsed passages with what little Cajun he remembered. Sordid, full of lyrical imagery, fawning over the moments where death and ecstasy overlap. Clearly written by some kindred soul.

‘There’s mention of a poisonous plant in the plot. One I recalled seeing on our fishing expeditions.’

Will’s hand paused on Hannibal’s stomach.

‘Last time, I collected a handful. Brought it back. Made a tincture in the school laboratories.’

Ah.

Hannibal wandering along the river while Will set up his line. ‘Hey, watch out for the blue flowers. That’s –‘

Wolfsbane.

‘I… miscalculated,’ Hannibal continued, with obvious irritation. ‘Even a small dose can cause instant death, and that isn’t what I wanted. I wished –‘

_To see him suffer._

‘– to study the effects of smaller doses, over time. I believed I’d administered enough to render him catatonic, or at least incapable of resisting.’

‘And you were wrong.’

Hannibal paused, then nodded, reluctant. He didn’t make mistakes. He didn’t think he did, anyway, and that’s what really mattered. Not the savaged house, or the wound, or the corpse they now had to deal with. The worst part was the damage to his pride.

‘He reacted as I expected, at first. I was writing down the times each symptom manifested, the lapses in convulsions. I let my guard down. He had a penknife I hadn’t thought to search for. I didn’t believe he’d have the strength to be a threat. I should have kept a level head regardless, suppressed the pain and continued the experiment. But I couldn’t. I answered his attack sevenfold.’

It made sense that Hannibal would be attracted to such an ancient killing method. He was intemporal himself, radiating youth and antediluvian energy alike. Plus, the plant’s toxins were virtually undetectable post-mortem, and accidental deaths of clueless ramblers and foragers who didn’t know to fear it were common. The boy in the tub – Mark? – had a physique that could at least pass for a hiker’s.

However.

‘Why,’ Will kept his voice level, though there was bubbling anger underneath, ‘did you bring him here?’

‘I needed space to observe the reaction. And one would be hard pressed to encounter wolfsbane in central Baltimore.’

‘So you thought you’d drive him all the way to _Virginia_?’

‘I _thought_ –‘

He silenced himself, but Will knew. He wanted to harvest some of the meat, make it look like wild animals got to the body after he’d died, bring it back to the house in Wolf Trap. Maybe he’d even planned on roping Will into the kill. This one would have been easy. The method didn’t involve direct physical violence. A gateway kill. Maybe he thought he’d been laying the groundwork long enough to make Will like –

Like _him_.

‘Hannibal. This house isn’t your playground. It’s _sanctuary_.’

‘Sanctuaries require offerings –‘

‘ _Stop_.’ He rubbed his eyes hard. Colours popped and faded inside his eyelids, and he briefly felt like he could open them and find his home as clean and comfortable as he’d left it twelve hours ago. ‘We’re past metaphors. You killed Mark because he was rude. You don’t think messing up my home is _rude_ , too?’

‘It wasn’t meant to go this way.’

‘Yeah, well, it did.’

Silence. Hannibal’s chest rose and fell slowly, down from the frantic shallow breaths of his self-surgery. A fly buzzed around the room, attracted to the decaying body beside them.

‘I thought you understood, Will.’

‘Under -- understood what?!’

Hannibal’s words overlapped the exclamation: ‘That this isn’t a – whim. I am not subject to binary moralities. _We_ are not subject to –‘

‘ _We_? _We_ ’ve never even _talked_ about any of this, not _properly_. And – and there isn’t even an active case right now. I didn’t think you’d do anything during a dry spell. I thought _you_ understood.’

‘We’ve never spoken about that, either. Slotting my hunts into your investigations is convenient. But it doesn’t mean exclusivity.’

‘This is about what’s _practical_. You can’t just – do whatever you want. You’re not invincible.’

‘I’m not. But we could be.’

That stopped Will’s outrage in its tracks. Hannibal regarded him with open features. Big eyes, lips set in a serious line, the sort of frankness he never really sported. Despite their situation, it made Will’s heart skip a beat. If he were younger and more vulnerable, he could have taken this as his chance to abandon his engrained morality, meet Hannibal halfway and grip his hand tightly and sink into the morass.

But he wasn’t younger.

‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said, calmly. ‘Puppy eyes won’t work. I get it enough from my dogs.’

The shift in Hannibal’s gaze was instant, guard springing right back up, permeated now with an iciness that felt almost like hatred. Will had to stop himself from recoiling, shivering, and though he’d often considered himself in over his head in this relationship, it was the first time he sensed abject disdain.

It hurt.

It hurt more because of how easy it was to forget that, for all his worldliness and cold-blooded rationality, Hannibal was little more than a kid. On top of the world and sure of everything he chose to do. Showered with praise and talented at anything he set his mind to. Wealthy, without responsibility. Fuck the real world.

Will swallowed dry, pulled the fraying edges of his confidence and affection back together.

‘Come on. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Let’s get you in bed.’

Hannibal started to lift himself up off the floor, gritting his teeth as his torn abdominal muscles stretched and worked against each other, let out a tiny gasp when Will reached under his knees and back and lifted him in a bridal carry.

He expected protest, but Hannibal simply slung an arm around Will’s shoulders for support and clung to him as they left the bathroom and walked down the stairs. Despite his slight build, Hannibal was all lean muscle and weighed more than he appeared. Will was glad when they reached the bedroom, where he delicately laid Hannibal on the linen. They’d been in that same position a number of times, but never with this dark a cloud hanging over their heads.

‘You should probably try to sleep,’ Will said. ‘I’ll check in later.’

Hannibal nodded, morose, and Will had never been more aware of the gap in their lived experiences as when he looked at that full-body sulk.

‘If you need anything, shout. I’ll let you know when I leave.’

‘Leave?’

A pause.

‘I’m going to clean up. And I’ll need to dispose of the body, after it’s… processed. We can talk about all of…’ he gestured. ‘… _this_ when the house is spotless.’

Hannibal looked at him for a long time. Seeking out hints of deception, perhaps, or doubt. Then, he reached out his hand, beckoning, and Will leaned in to plant a quick, chaste kiss on his lips.

‘Thank you,’ murmured Hannibal.

Will made a noise of acknowledgment, squeezed his bare shoulder, and left the bedroom.

Outside, the place was bedlam. Just as well he’d been meaning to spruce up the creaky floorboards, because he knew for a fact that the stains simply wouldn’t wash out of the worn wood. Browning blood covered the dogs’ feet and bellies, freckled around their mouths. Almost all of them would need baths.

At least the bathroom was mostly made up of non-porous materials.

With a sigh, Will headed to the kitchen to grab a cold beer while he figured out how he was going to tackle the rest of the evening.

Butchering the body would probably have to come first. If he put it off too long, rigor mortis would set in, and then it’d be even more of a pain in the ass unless he waited a day for the rigidity to fade. Plus, he was bound to make a mess. He was never the best at cleaning a carcass, even when his dad took him hunting. He could already imagine the sickly scent of ruptured organs, layered over the very real copper tang of blood floating throughout the house.

He popped the Rolling Rock back into the fridge and hunted around the cabinets for the heavy bottle of whiskey he’d slowly been draining over the months.

Plenty left to make the task ahead less raw.


	3. Narcissus

Will was allowed to be fashionably late.

It was a hell of a trek from Quantico to Baltimore, he’d been up since six looking at blown-out corpses, and he was staring down the barrel of a night of socialising with a gaggle of twenty-somethings. Plus, he’d dressed up. Slacks, blazer, tie. That had to count for something.

Hannibal cut a striking figure, waiting at the door of the residence hall in the setting spring sun. His suit was tailored to perfection, a sleek Italian fit that made the classic grey three-piece look modern on such a young man. Will smiled as he walked up, tender despite his general unease.

‘Good evening, Will,’ said Hannibal. ‘You look handsome.’

‘Only the best for Maryland’s finest.’

‘That remains to be seen. I can’t say I know how some of my colleagues made it past the application process.’

‘I wasn’t talking about your classmates.’

Hannibal grinned, one of those rare times his eyes actually lit up, and leaned in to give him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Will knew it was silly, but things like this – kissing, hugging, holding hands in public, it all still gave him a secret little thrill. He’d had the proverbial fear of God drilled into him by Louisiana’s churches and schools alike, enforced by the fists of schoolyard bullies and miscellaneous white trash. There were gay men and women along the French Quarter’s Lavender Line, out and proud and tough as nails, who he’d glimpse with some interest throughout his teenage years. Now that he found himself in their shoes, the sense of transgression had yet to wear off.

Maybe it never would. Not with a boy like Hannibal.

The table in the dining room was crammed full of excitable would-be doctors, waiting for the first course to be brought out. When Hannibal invited him to this med school ‘function,’ Will pictured a faculty dinner. Something professors would attend, who he could talk to about the struggles of teaching in the internet age. Something not that different from an FBI formal, where he could switch his brain into cruise control and blend in.

But, though the dress code was smart, the walls were lined with grand photographs and oil paintings of notable staff and alumni, and there was a decent bar at the back of the room, Will was definitely the oldest person in the room, and he felt more like a weird chaperone than a guest.

Had Hannibal done this on purpose? To destabilise him, push him out of his comfort zone.

Because he could.

‘Hannibal talks about you a lot,’ said a young woman in a dark red dress. Amber something. ‘It’s kinda wild actually meeting you.’

‘Yeah,’ added her boyfriend, ‘he only had like, one picture from Florence, and you’re not online…’

‘I’m not good with computers,’ Will shrugged, ‘but I’m pretty sure I’m real.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Hannibal, taking a sip from a tall glass of white. ‘A mass psychotic break this early in the year would do nothing for the school’s reputation.’

‘Could be a good case study! Degeneration of the medial frontal lobe as tracked by hallucinations of students’ hot older boyfriends!’

Amber put a hand in front of her mouth, as though embarrassed by a Freudian slip, but the sparkle in her eyes, the grin peeking through her fingers, the flirty feeling of her suede high heel brushing against Will’s leg, all told a different story. She liked to make men flustered. And she was good at it.

Hannibal noticed, too, of course. Which is why, under the table, his hand was currently squeezing high up Will’s thigh with more than a hint of possessiveness. A blush crept onto his face, which Amber would probably attribute to herself, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

‘I, er, I don’t think my boss would be impressed with me ruining a class of doctors. I’m on thin ice as is.’

‘You teach, right?’ asked the boyfriend.

‘Oh man, we were talking about what happens to a corpse? When it decomposes? Hannibal sent us _all_ an email with your book as an attachment. _On Dating the_ … you know.’

‘ _On Dating Time of Death Through the Insects on the Body_ ,’ Will supplied. Considering the nimble fingers massaging his hardening cock, he thought he did a good job of speaking in an even, unaffected tone. He glanced at Hannibal, eyebrows raised, giving no indication of what was happening below the belt. ‘Y’know, that’s a tidy sum in royalties you snagged from me.’

‘Let me make it up to you, then. Double whiskey on the rocks. The price should be roughly equivalent, yes?’

‘You’re vastly overestimating the generosity of academic publishers.’

With a grin and a final, daring grope between Will’s legs, Hannibal stood up and made his way to the bar.

‘You guys are cute,’ Amber said in a sing-song tone. ‘Lecter’s super polite and all, but it’s hard to get a read on him. It feels like he’s like, sixty years old trapped in a twink’s body. He actually looks his age around you.’

Will smiled, only a little awkward, and looked around the room.

‘I’m, er, impressed with the event tonight. We didn’t have anything this fancy when I was in college. Maybe it’s a med school thing?’

‘I wish!’ the boyfriend piped up. He leaned against the side of Amber’s chair now, idly twisting one of her long, blonde locks between his fingers. They were an attractive couple, though painfully millennial.

‘We usually keep it to takeout outside the library during study sessions. Hannibal doesn’t join us all that often ‘cause he’s like, Megamind, or he’s gotta bounce to get over to Virginia, and when he _does_ show up, he brings a lunchbox.’

‘When I asked if he wanted in on pizza, he looked like he was gonna skin me alive!’

Will’s lips quirked.

‘Anyway, last time, he asked if we didn’t wanna do something a little fancier after finals. Guaranteed he could keep costs down and organise something nice on a budget. So we let him.’

Ah. That’s why he’d been invited. Hannibal was showing off.

Now he knew, there were plenty of clues. The eclectic but complementary nature of the cuisines to come, the elaborate floral arrangements dotting the table and the corners. Hannibal probably dug into his own pockets for any touches he couldn’t justify in the budget. Even a faculty dinner needed to meet his considerable standards, and Will doubted the average broke college kid was willing to splurge on specialty flowers.

Hannibal wasn’t broke, and he certainly wasn’t average.

‘He didn’t tell me he was behind this,’ Will said.

‘Oh, shit, I hope it wasn’t a surprise.’

‘He’s probably been waiting for me to say something all evening. You’ve saved me from a night of pouting and underhanded comments.’

The couple looked at him, obviously amused. Will guessed what they’d ask before they could speak.

‘How’d you two end up together?’

‘Improbably.’

‘If that’s meant to make it sound _less_ interesting, it’s not working.’

‘It’s meant to tantalise. Ask Hannibal, sometime. He’ll be happy to tell you.’

‘Tell her what?’

Hannibal smoothly took his seat beside Will and slid a short, stout whiskey glass before him, ice cubes clinking out a tiny tune that resonated with the alcoholic strand of Will’s DNA. He’d been drinking far more since Hannibal landed in the States, but it didn’t feel risky. Perhaps because the danger of alcohol addiction paled in comparison to the other cravings that now blossomed inside him.

‘I wanna know how you guys met!’ Amber exclaimed. ‘You’re so different, but it just. It works! There’s _gotta_ be a good story.’

‘If you’d like advice on meeting a similar partner, I’ll gladly help,’ Hannibal said, sitting back in his chair to allow the catering staff to place the first, small course on the table.

Amber leaned forward with obvious interest, and her boyfriend cleared his throat. ‘I’m _right here_.’

‘Then you’d do well to listen.’

It was odd, seeing Hannibal interact with people his own age. Though Will felt they were fundamentally alike in so many ways, he knew Hannibal didn’t have the social paralysis that had so crippled Will in his youth, and though he was out of step with his classmates in manners and speaking style, he seemed to fill a certain niche. Maybe it was easier when you could play up the European side. Either way, it was a a persona Will seldom saw, and it was nice. It felt normal.

He could do with more of that.

Casting a casual eye over the meaty terrine on his plate, Will lifted the whiskey to his lips and took a healthy swig.

And almost spat it back up.

The drink was decent, top-shelf for sure. Notes of smoke, honey. The issue lay in the distinct chemical tang lingering at the back of his throat.

While he’d mostly stuck to weed on the rare occasions he indulged back in the day, a career in law enforcement had his senses well-honed to the standard gamut of street drugs. The flavour of the alcohol interfered, but he knew it was ecstasy.

No one seemed to notice his reaction, least of all Hannibal, who kept trading needling remarks with Amber’s boyfriend. He had to know Will would notice. MDMA wasn’t like rohypnol or GHB, almost flavourless, easy to disguise in anything stronger than plain water. It tasted vile.

Between two words, Hannibal’s gaze shifted to meet Will’s. Opaque, as usual, except for a wicked glint.

He _wanted_ Will to notice.

So Will held his eyes, brought the glass to his lips once more, and drank deeply.

\---

‘You didn’t need to drug me.’

The moon above was pregnant ivory. Heady scents floated up from the bouquet in Will’s hand, impulsively pilfered from the dinner table as they made their exit, a mixture of narcotic musk from the daffodils and earthy delicacy from hidden sprigs of lavender. Moonlight bounced off waxy white narcissus petals, made the flowers almost glow. Will’s brain felt fuzzy, as though its dense ridges were overgrown with moss.

Hannibal, keeping pace alongside him, let the back of his hand brush Will’s, smirked at how even this tiniest of touches made Will huff out a quiet moan.

‘I want you all the time.’

With that, he pivoted to his younger lover and crushed his lips against Hannibal’s.

Overall, the dinner was a success.

The ecstasy loosened Will’s anxious knots, let him forget his outsider status and make such steady conversation Amber and her beau seemed genuinely surprised. He learned that, as well as a celebration of the end of finals, the meal was a way to take their minds off their disappeared classmate.

Nobody outside his frat _liked_ Mark Dolginoff, but there’d been concerns when he first vanished, reignited when his dental records were matched to a jawbone found on the banks of the Potomac. As young _medical students_ , they were acquainted with death, down to the goriest detail, but as _young_ medical students, they’d hardly reckoned with it on a personal level. Hardly thought they could find themselves on the receiving end of an autopsy. Dealing with that, along with the mystery of Mark’s death – it was hard. It was a lot.

Will listened, sympathetic, cutting the small portion of meat on his plate into smaller and smaller pieces, appetite dampened by the drugs in his system.

He wondered if the cut on Amber’s plate came from her departed classmate. From which part of him. Will had done his best when taking the carcass apart. There’d surely have been enough flesh for most, if not all the people at the table to get a taste, and Hannibal had driven off with a cooler full of Mark on his last trip to Wolf Trap.

As those thoughts crossed his frantic mind, Hannibal once again reached under the table to squeeze his inner thigh, subtly eyeing him from the side. Confirming the origin of the meat in so many words.

Their shared secret felt powerfully erotic, and that tension only grew as the night wore on, until they were finally able to step out onto the freshman quad for the short walk to Hannibal’s off-campus apartment.

Hannibal’s tongue against Will’s was like nothing he’d felt before. His hands on Hannibal’s face were bare flesh touching electric wire, so potent he felt his legs would give out any moment. It was as intense as profiling, with none of the fear or danger or guilt. If his particular form of empathy truly was a gift instead of a curse.

When he broke away, wary of overstimulation, Will realised they’d somehow walked off the quad path to stand against the wall of the residence hall, half-hidden behind a few trees.

‘I wanted to see what would happen,’ Hannibal murmured.

‘If you slipped me X?’

‘And if you’d take it.’

The flowers in Will’s hand were fragrant, loudly demanding attention. He plucked a one out of the bunch, popped it into Hannibal’s buttonhole. Creamy white, it only made Hannibal’s skin more enticing, two pale spots contrasting with the dark material of his jacket.

‘Daffodils,’ Will whispered.

‘Narcissus.’

Hannibal reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a tiny piece of balled-up tissue paper. A bomb full of molly. He popped it on the back of his tongue and swallowed, throat bobbing against the knot of his silk tie. It’d be a while before it kicked in. But it was a promise of openness, of mutual bliss.

Will kissed him, thirst for touch reignited after mere moments apart. Careful not to crush the daffodil, he stroked Hannibal’s cheek with one hand, fixated on that mysterious face, waiting for further clarification. For more of that deep voice, the movements of that ruddy mouth.

Will licked his lips.

He could eat him whole.

‘They are typical of the season,’ Hannibal said. ‘They die at Easter.’

‘Daffodils fall, and Christ rises.’

‘Yes. They’re said to carpet the fields of Elysium. According to Homer, anyway.’

‘ _Odyssey_?’

Hannibal nodded, leaning into Will’s touch, trailing his fingertips over the thin fabric of Will’s dress shirt. The slim barrier made all contact more exciting, teasers of what would come.

‘Elysium is a special part of the afterlife. Only those chosen by the gods are allowed to roam there, doing whatever they wish.’

‘Is that so different from your existence in our world?’

Wordlessly, Hannibal let his hand travel down to the front of Will’s slacks, leisurely unbuttoning and unzipping. Muffled voices floated over from within the residence hall, shadows trudged by on the paved path. They’d chanced exhibitionism in Italy, where everything felt unreal. Will might have worried about doing the same in Baltimore, if every parched neurotransmitter wasn’t currently dripping with serotonin.

‘You chose these flowers for me,’ he said, stammering only a little as Hannibal cupped him through his underwear. ‘As a joke for us to share. Same reason why you served us Mark as upmarket bacon.’

‘How narcissistic of you.’

A dark spot grew on Will’s briefs, wet and sticky with leaking precome. He wasn’t hard – couldn’t be, a side effect of the drugs – and how aroused he was, how _sensitive_ he was, even soft – it was ridiculous. Emasculating. Electrifying.

‘You made me this way,’ he breathed, ‘in your image.’

‘You think me a god?’

Will grinned. ‘No more than you do.’

Hannibal nipped Will’s bottom lip with pearly teeth, hard enough to send hot pleasure down to where his hands were stroking and massaging between Will’s legs, again and again, like waves crashing on the shore. Will wanted to touch him back, do _anything_ except stand there and take it, but he was being pulled in far too many directions. Unmatched bliss, overwhelming love, an undercurrent of fear of discovery, and, though he’d be hard pressed to identify it now, a tinge of fury.

It was too much. It was delirium.

His vision went white when he came, desperately clinging to Hannibal for support. Soft, shuddering. Powerless.

It should have scared him.

But it didn’t.

And he didn’t know how much of _that_ was the drugs.


	4. Wormwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had a bit of a block with this story but the next chapters should take far less time to write than this one!

A retinue of the Quantico’s sharpest minds crowded around Hannibal, peppering him with questions, then listening intently. On the defensive, in a way, but in undeniable thrall. For his part, the young man seemed characteristically at ease, taking in the interest with an understated smile. Will had dreamed of this scenario more than once. In his head, however, the interview tended to take place in the bowels of a correctional facility, once his –

(Their? His.)

\-- once his research into the morbid art of murder was finally cut short by the cleaver of the Bureau.

Will had never imagined that his colleagues might speak to Hannibal over drinks, at a casual work function. And yet.

He finished the short walk back from the bathroom and joined the conversation, accepting a tall glass of sparkling wine from his lover. The FBI wasn’t going to start springing for real champagne anytime soon. He suspected Hannibal’s glass of mid-range American plonk would still be quite full by the end of the evening. Thankfully, Will himself had no such reservations, and took a generous first swig.

‘We were talking about Johns Hopkins,’ Hannibal said, nodding in Alana’s direction.

‘So nostalgic!’ she exclaimed. ‘Knowing things haven’t changed makes a girl feel young. The doctors of tomorrow are still fuelled by copious amounts of cocaine.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Jack, mock-stern. ‘I’m sure Hannibal has the good sense to keep _his_ nose clean.’

‘So to speak,’ Will murmured.

‘Naturally.’ Hannibal took just enough of a sip to taste the wine, and verify that it was, indeed, substandard – not that anyone but Will would have noticed the minute creasing of his smooth, unblemished forehead, the muscular twitch of gustative revulsion. ‘Why risk my visa when Adderall is perfectly legal?’

Jack laughed, and Alana met Will’s gaze with a sparkle in her eye. She’d been the first to prod him about bringing his mysterious European beau to an Academy graduation party, cornering him with the idea over lunch with the forensics team. Feebly, he’d agreed to ask, though he stressed Hannibal was unlikely to make it on account of his studies and the dullness of the whole affair, and, and –

This did nothing to quell the chatter around the table. Questions about his looks, his mannerisms, his habits – what could _Will Graham’s boyfriend_ possibly be like?

‘Everybody brings their partners to these things,’ Will mumbled. ‘It’s not that exciting.’

‘Yeah, uh, you’re not everybody.’

Beverly’s remark was met with huge enthusiasm, and Will wished he could bore into the ground and tunnel back to Wolf Trap. This desire only intensified when he dropped by Jack’s office for a plus-one.

‘Am I hearing this right?’ Jack said, with a gap-toothed grin. ‘You’re saying you’re bringing someone?’

‘Figured you would’ve known already. More gossip in the Bureau than a backwater town.’

‘You know I like hard evidence before I go around drawing conclusions.’ He pulled a sheet of paper out of a notebook and scribbled Will’s request. ‘We’ll need to do a little background check, of course. Nothing too deep. What’s her name?’

Will sighed through his nose, kept his lungs empty just long enough to burn. ‘Hannibal Lecter.’

Jack’s big round eyes blinked, and his lips parted in a silent ‘ _ah_.’ ‘Not a… _remarkable_ coincidence, I take it.’

‘Same man who assisted with the _Mostro_ case. And he’s not coming out of, er, professional curiosity, or courtesy. He’s…’

_He’s…?_

‘… we’re partners,’ he said, eventually.

Jack nodded, jotted down a few more notes. ‘That’s great, Will. I’m happy for you. And we can pull his data from USCIS, so that makes everything easier.’

‘Great.’

‘You know, the Bureau’s got a number of awards for its commitment to diversity. Best Place to Work and Top Government Jobs five years running. Lots of good press from the big, er, GBTL organisations.’

‘Okay.’

‘Yes.’ Jack cleared his throat and handed the paper to Will. ‘Drop this off with my secretary and he’ll get in no problem. It’ll be nice to meet him!’

Will took the note with a quiet thank you, traded a few more phrases with Jack concerning a couple of ongoing cases, and excused himself to prepare for a class.

He couldn’t help noticing that, for once, _he_ hadn’t been the one desperately avoiding eye contact.

Watching Jack take an evident shine to Hannibal now was slightly surreal. Hannibal was clearly enjoying the attention. Even by his considerable standards, there had to be a pride, a _thrill_ in charming the very people who dealt with the fallout of his morbid whims. It was a level above simply befriending a lone, awkward investigator in a timeless European city.

That was barely a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime – or several. Would the Will from before Florence recognise the Will he would go on to become? The Will whose mouth watered at the smell of sizzling human flesh? The Will who’d butchered a body in his bathroom? The Will who fucked a killer half his age?

Lost in these meandering thoughts, the real Will – the one who stood in the event hall at Quantico with a drink in his hand and a soul buzzing with sin – barely had time to notice Hannibal’s hand slipping around his shoulders, pulling him in to kiss him full on the mouth.

There must have been some lull in the conversation, some look or remark that made Hannibal want to shock, because Will could feel that deft tongue forcing its way past his lips – and the smooth unnatural intrusion of a pill. A pill whose existence – and contents – he’d not been warned about

It was less charming the second time.

Rejecting the drug by firmly clamping his teeth shut, Will tore his face away from Hannibal’s. A quick glance around the circle of what could loosely be termed Will’s friends revealed a collection of embarrassed faces, studiously involved in frivolous conversation with each other. Finally, Will’s eyes returned to Hannibal, who regarded him through half-lidded eyes. His lips moved, opening just enough for a flash of shiny, unnatural blue, before he sipped enough champagne to wash down the pill and segue into a casual remark:

‘You must tell me about your service in Italy, Mr Crawford.’

Flummoxed at what just happened, Jack was eager to move on, and launched into roiling praise of Florence and all of Tuscany. Alana gently touched Will’s elbow, and motioned towards the bar with her chin.

‘I’m sorry,’ Will said, as they walked over.

‘For what? You were more blindsided than any of us!’ Will felt the uncomfortable heat of a shameful flush all over his face, his chest, and he was grateful Alana knew not insist he meet her gaze. ‘I know you only get to see each other a few days a month, but my God.’

‘I don’t know why he did it. Boredom, probably.’

‘He’s a kid, Will. He’s being transgressive. What better place than this?’

Nodding at the barman to accept something decidedly stronger than wine, Will let the spirits tumble around his glass with each minute turn of the wrist, ice cubes colliding like ships in a storm.

‘He’s… he’s driving me a little crazy, I think. Hannibal doesn’t know how to quit while he’s ahead. He thinks he’s invincible. And sometimes, when it’s just us… I start thinking I am, too. That’s dangerous.’

‘You’re in a dangerous line of work.’

Will breathed out a chuckle. ‘That’s why a peaceful home wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘Is it never peaceful?’

The ice in his drink clinked and cracked, like bone on bone. There was peace, to be sure. Scores spent together in silent companionship, with the comfortable warmth of Hannibal’s body against his own, watching him prepare for a hunt – moments when the flotsam in his mind cleared and he could drift unimpeded under the heat of his lover’s sun.

There was peace. In the moment. And the most fearful possibility of all was that succumbing fully to Hannibal’s ideology _would_ bring about lasting tranquility, at the expense of –

Humanity? Values?

‘I don’t know if he wants me to quit being myself,’ he murmured, ‘or if he knows me better than I do.’

‘Maybe you know _him_ better than he thinks.’

Will smiled, tired, but true.

‘I guess he keeps me on my toes.’

They sat, drank, and talked of easy things until the knot of anxiety in Will’s stomach had mostly dissolved. Their friends had dispersed, by then, speaking to other colleagues or getting their fill of canapés.

Hannibal was nowhere to be found.

After letting Alana be swept off by another lecturer and waiting a fruitless fifteen minutes for Hannibal to emerge, Will spotted Jack’s bulky figure in a corner, surrounded by twittering graduating students, and approached him

‘Hey, Jack – congratulations, all of you. Sorry to, er, cut in – do you know where Hannibal went?’

‘He wanted to look around. I sent Roger with him as a tour guide. You should have told me he’s interested in applying to the Bureau! He’s a very bright young man.’

‘Thanks,’ Will said, already heading for the double doors with an uneasy clench in his jaw.

The first time he’d resisted Hannibal’s desires in any meaningful way, after their first evening out in Florence, he’d woken up to a fresh kill courtesy of _Il Mostro._

Quantico never slept, but in the evenings, it took the opportunity to rest its eyes. Trawling hallways long committed to memory, Will encountered nobody and only spotted two offices still lit up, glass panes allowing him to peer inside and move on.

He paused in front of his office.

The lights were off, but when he tried the handle, the door was unlocked, and that’s not how Will had left it.

Switching on the lights revealed the small room exactly as crowded with paperwork as it always was, and a pair of legs sticking out from behind the desk.

George, the graduating student Jack had sent to chaperone Hannibal, lay stretched out on the carpeted floor. Mercifully, he was still alive, with the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his forehead. Will remembered he’d been a little tipsy, earlier. Likely out cold for the rest of the night.

And no Hannibal in sight.

Perhaps it was the professional setting, perhaps reflex memory, but rather than succumbing to panic, Will slowed his breathing. Closed his eyes. The clock on the wall ticked. The pendulum swung.

_Hannibal follows George, but doesn’t listen to his explanations or weak attempts at banter. He’s been denied his fun, after he made the effort to trek all the way out to Virginia, and that’s unacceptable. He wants the space to explore on his own terms, cool off, gather intel. A few steps down a flight of stairs, he closes the gap to his guide, kicks the back of his shoe to send him smashing face-first into the concrete wall. With the facility empty and all the locks still analogue, it’s easy to pick his way into Will’s office – where he knows no one will enter – to leave behind the unconscious graduate, and steal his ID card._

_Quantico’s a playground. Where to?_

When Will sank back to reality, he stood at the threshold of the forensics lab.

Hard to find a more quiet spot, at this hour.

He beeped his card against the reader, and was greeted with the potent antiseptic smell that always accompanied a visit to this place. The lights were on, over the furthest operating area. His footfalls were loud in the cavernous lab, bouncing off sterile metal and tiles and concrete. Each drawer lining the walls housed a cadaver in need of dissection. The whole room was kept at a brisk temperature. Will had left his jacket at the party, rolled up his sleeves while he buzzed around the offices. The hair on his exposed forearms stood on end.

There.

Hannibal faced away, standing over a corpse he’d pulled out of the wall. It wasn’t someone he’d murdered, but it _was_ a victim from the case he’d most recently modeled a kill after.

‘Studying up on the _modus operandi_?’ Will said.

Hannibal didn’t turn around. Will noted he wore latex gloves to examine the body. An almost absurd touch of care, given the tremendous risk he was putting them both in.

‘I grow tired of mimicry,’ he replied. ‘But if I must copy, I’ll do it well.’

‘Always the overachiever.’ Will leaned his hips against the metal dissection slab and crossed his arms. ‘Care to explain what _that_ was about?’

‘I was curious.’ Hannibal covered the body with its white blanket and smoothly slid the drawer back in place, closing the door with a loud click. ‘I wanted to see what you would do.’

When he looked at Will’s face, his pupils were like dimes, pale skin flushed about the cheeks, lips even plumper than usual from continuous licking and nibbling.

The pill he’d swallowed out of spite made him irrepressibly, irresistibly wanton.

‘It’s a work party,’ Will said, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the morbid environment they found themselves in. ‘I have to work with these people every day. You knew what I’d do.’

‘I was under the impression you might be – beyond superficial shame. After you played along in Baltimore –‘

‘That was on a college campus, Hannibal.’ Will took his glasses off and rubbed his eyelids. ‘It’s not the same. I shouldn’t’ve _played along_ in the first place, not if it means you’re taking it as consent to _drug me_ whenever you want.’

‘You seemed to enjoy yourself. And you weren’t enjoying _this_ evening.’

‘You can’t always do what’s – fun. That’s part of growing up.’

‘I do not appreciate the condescension.’

‘Then don’t _make_ me condescend to you.’

‘I never _make_ you do anything, Will.’

Will looked at him, now, brow furrowed, with a bemused smile.

‘I merely bring to the fore what you already wish to do.’

‘I’m not –‘ Will started, then paused, frustrated. ‘I’m not _like_ you, Hannibal.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like a –‘

He sighed again, harder, hitting the metal table with the side of his fist. Hannibal walked to him. He was rubbing his gloved fingers against one another, a jumble of nervous energy, and his breath hitched audibly when Will grabbed his hand.

‘I need my privacy. My sanctuary. And outside Wolf Trap, I don’t want to – stand out. You have to respect that.’

Hannibal’s hand snaked around in his grasp, turning to entwine their fingers. Will could see how quick his breathing was, how his big dark eyes ran the length of Will’s body with a desire he never saw outside the peak of climax. Was he even listening?

If he was, would he even care?

Maybe Will was just a convenience. A curiosity.

_I wanted to see what you would do._

Alright.

Will gripped the back of Hannibal’s head and forced their mouths together in a painful clash of teeth and tongues, ripping his other hand out of Hannibal’s grasp to hold their bodies tight against each other. Hannibal was hot in the cool lab, moaning like a bitch in heat with each ragged breath, arms thrown around Will’s shoulders.

With a sharp tug, he pulled Hannibal’s face away from his own, took a second to drink in the sight of his dazed, wanting expression, of that eager tongue resting on a bottom lip shiny with spit. He knew the barrier of clothes was torture for Hannibal, in this state, and that only made him stiffer.

‘Did you think I’d do that?’

‘It wasn’t –‘ his eyelids fluttered when Will groped his ass. ‘Hm – _impossible_.’

Hannibal cupped Will’s face, latex on stubble – the same hand that had been preoccupied with a cadaver minutes ago. He yelped when Will whirled him around and slammed him chest-down onto the cold dissection slab, but eagerly lifted his hips to let his bottoms be pulled down, clearly thinking he’d be filled up right away.

Just hours ago, Will had been perhaps five feet behind where he now stood, talking to Jack, Jimmy, Brian and Beverly about the ins and outs of a murder committed by the Ganymede now bent over, shivering, with his perfect bare ass up and begging to be fucked. It was delightfully obscene, and thoughts of the victim’s face, of her family, didn’t cross Will’s mind for a second.

He reared back, planted a sharp slap on Hannibal’s pert buttock. This tattooed the red print of his hand on trembling flesh, inviting more – so he obliged, savouring the low, increasingly guttural groans that each thwack ripped out of Hannibal. When his ass was a mess of nascent contusions, Will grabbed a handful and squeezed hard.

‘Want me to fuck you?’

‘Yes,’ Hannibal said, promptly, thick with desire.

‘Isn’t that just what you’d expect?’ Unseen, Will squatted, and spread Hannibal’s ass. ‘I wouldn’t want to _disappoint_ you by being predictable.’

‘Pettiness doesn’t suit –‘

Hannibal sucked his words in with a gasp, as Will’s tongue lapped against his hole.

He’d largely come to terms with his latent attraction to men, but a few things took longer to process than others, and in the long months they’d been sleeping together, he’d never quite talked himself into eating Hannibal out – or being rimmed himself. Now, be it out of a twisted need to prove a point, lust, or the extraordinary circumstances, he held fast and lavished attention on Hannibal’s hole, filling the room with sloppy sounds of kissing, licking, sucking – all the while listening to his partner melt into incoherent mewls, unconsciously rising up to his tiptoes as every muscle tensed. His hole clenched around Will’s tongue, as though trying to keep him inside, draw him deeper. There was something primal about tasting Hannibal like this, something extraordinary and impossibly sexy.

Panting, Will withdrew, stroking the relaxed, wrinkled skin of Hannibal’s hole with his thumb, occasionally dipping in to the first knuckle, marveling at the heat within. His mouth and chin were covered in spit, cooling quick in the air of the glorified morgue. The drugs kept Hannibal mostly soft, but a long string of clear precome hung from the tip of his uncut cock, dangling in the air over a little puddle on the tiled floor.

Will reached out with the intent to tease, slipped his fingertip over the half uncovered pearly pink head of Hannibal’s prick to flick the pre off –

But he shuddered, let out a strangled moan, and dribbled – rather than shot – a thick load into Will’s open palm. Watching the swell of Hannibal’s taint pulse to milk out every drop made Will excruciatingly aware of how ramrod-hard his own cock was. He wanted nothing more than to stuff it deep and rough in Hannibal’s spit-soaked hole.

But he was, after all, proving a point.

With affected casualness, he went to the nearest metal sink and rinsed off his hands and mouth. He took his time, deliberately thorough. When he turned back, he saw Hannibal hadn’t moved, and felt a twinge of worry. Immobile, splayed out against the slab, he looked like a fresh corpse. Through the scent of cleansing chemicals permeating the space, Will wondered if he couldn’t detect the sickly sweet smell of decay wafting from the walls.

‘Hey,’ he said, touching Hannibal’s back.

This seemed to awaken him. Shakily, he stood straight and looked at Will.

Eyes brimming with tears.

Will blinked, and reflexively took hold of Hannibal’s shoulders as if to steady him. Shining trails radiated down from his eyes, framing lips whose sensitive skin had been worn through by nibbling, dotted with tiny crimson beads. His eyes, though they looked at Will’s face, were dazed.

Grotesquely, he’d never looked younger.

‘Hannibal,’ Will stammered, ‘are you –‘

He dug his face into Will’s shoulder, clasped him tightly. Will returned the embrace.

‘Simple… overstimulation,’ Hannibal whispered, muffled by burrowing his face against Will’s neck.

His hands constantly roamed Will’s back, and he made himself almost boneless in his lover’s arms. Will had never seen him this needy. Unlike the rapid-fire patter usually induced by MDMA, Hannibal’s words were broken up by silences, moans, each new fragment expressed with genuine difficulty.

‘Overstimulation?’

Hannibal made a noise of confirmation. ‘An intimacy I’d… never… experienced before. Thank you, Will.’

Will held onto him. He didn’t doubt the thanks were genuine – Hannibal lived for sensuality, for the sake of exploring the full breadth and depth of the senses, and something like this was another notch in his ledger.

That didn’t mean Will didn’t feel guilty.

After clearing up the lab, as he helped Hannibal back upstairs, he thought of how _childishly_ he’d reacted. For all his intellect and poise, Hannibal was bound to act on impulse, to provoke and outrage – it was all part of blossoming into a real person. Testing the waters, finding one’s bearings. He wasn’t the typical young adult, of course not, but try as he might, he was still human. And Will needed to remember that.

It was remarkably easy to fool Jack and the others about what had happened to George.

Will left Hannibal in his office, with the unconscious man, and rushed back to the party with alarm painted on his features. He’d stumbled across their passed-out bodies at the bottom of a staircase. It seemed George had tripped up and brought down Hannibal, who’d tried to hold him back. Though he was confused, Hannibal had awoken easily enough, but George had taken a worse fall and really needed a trip to the ER.

Jack led a few graduates to Will’s office and, while they waited for an ambulance, gave Hannibal a firm pat on the shoulder.

‘Sorry the night ended like this.’

‘There’s never a dull moment around here. I quite enjoy it.’

Jack chuckled, warmly. ‘Well, I’m sure we can arrange an internship or two if Will hasn’t scared you off by the time you finish med school.’

‘Perish the thought,’ said Hannibal, directing a small smile at the man in question.

Will pressed his lips together, arms crossed. The sound of sirens faded in from the distance.

With a couple of drinks in him, he wouldn’t be able to drive back, and Jack wouldn’t hear of Hannibal getting behind the wheel after what had happened. In the end, they were granted overnight use of one of the Academy’s freshly vacated dorm rooms.

‘Brings me back,’ Will said, heavily sitting down on the nearest of the two bed. ‘Feels like they’ve upgraded the mattresses. That, or I’ve grown less picky.’

Hannibal shed his shirt, silently, and continued undressing. He hadn’t spoken since Jack had bid them goodnight, even though Will knew he’d still be rolling. How deep in thought did he have to be to overpower the chatterbox effect?

‘Hannibal?’

Hannibal looked at him. He was naked, now, but his face was as impossible to read as it had been when they first met in Italy, in another life. He went to Will, and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. When Will put his hand over his, Hannibal sighed.

‘I’m tired, Will. I’d like to go to bed. Please.’

Will let go of his hands, let Hannibal carry on undressing him. ‘I just, er, want to know you’re alright. Are you?’

In response, Hannibal pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and made short work of the remainder of Will’s clothes. Soon, they were tightly entwined under the covers of the twin bed, without a shred of clothing separating them. Hannibal seemed to relax, absently playing with the hair on Will’s chest. They traded languid kisses, slow and deep, tongues embracing without the urgency of purposeful arousal.

It was comfortable. Intimate.

But, somehow, Will couldn’t shake the thought that Hannibal tasted of wormwood.


End file.
